


But What Makes a Monster?

by multiversequeen8



Category: Songs of War - Fandom
Genre: Also minimal editing we die like men, Angst, Canon has been shot only because the plot requires it, M/M, Were-Creatures, and h/c in the beginning, dumb gay stuff, werewolf shenanigans, with a pinch of werewolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiversequeen8/pseuds/multiversequeen8
Summary: It started with the injured man on his doorstep.Then the beasts.And now the blackouts.So now he is left with a simple question.What separates him from the beasts outside?
Relationships: Maxwell/Aren





	1. Chapter One

Aren eyed the half-dead man, the only feeling he could muster was confusion.

Of all the places to pass out, why here? Why come to  _ him _ for help? He wondered these things as he picked the man up and carried him inside his house, laying him down on a bed. The man seemed bruised, his eye sockets nearly blackened with bleeding. He was literally black and blue everywhere, only some parts of his flesh showing his pale skin tone. Some of these bruises were bad enough to see the outlines of bone. His hair was a mess, but all of it was still there, as if his attacker had decided that pulling it out would be too cruel.

Aren winced. How was this man still alive? All of that blood was loose under his skin, away from his veins, where it truly belonged. He doubted the man would ever awaken again. 

He gently pulled the blanket over the man’s head, trying not to cause further pain to him. Looking at the poor thing made him sick. 

There was nothing more he could do, not even a medic could help him. 

A medic would take one good look at the man and say he’s on his last legs. Then they would end his suffering. Aren purged this thought from his mind, it made him sicker.

Aren didn’t want to be responsible for this man’s death. He didn’t care about his fate, but he did not want to be the one burdened with it. It sickened him; he wanted no blood on his hands.

So he went to work and tried to forget about it. The repetition of meeting people and giving them arrows and recommendations purged the unpleasant encounter from his mind.

At the end of the day, he went back home and readied himself to sleep. 

A strange moan drove the tiredness out of his body. His body broke out into goosebumps and he looked over to the source. Another moan was uttered and he approached it slowly, his feet moving so close to the ground that they barely made any noise. 

He peeked at the man under the cover. The injured man had taken the blanket off of his face and had his eyes squeezed shut. With one balled fist he held the cloth away from his head. 

Aren stared at the man, frozen with a strange fear. The man was half-dead, comatose earlier. How could he reanimate so fast?

The man’s eyes ripped open, a dull blue color, whites red with either rage or fear. He screamed, the cry an animalistic, primal response of fear and he shoved the blanket over his head, as if he was a child trying to escape the dark. 

“I’m not gonna hurt ye!” Aren stammered, stepping back. The man scrunched his eyes, shoved his head back and moaned again. “Can you tell me what happened?” He tried to humanize himself to the man. The man groaned. He opened his eyes again and croaked out a response.

“I was attacked…” The man said, bringing the top half of his body up.

“Lay down.” Aren commanded gently, pushing the man back onto his back. “I know ye were attacked. You’re black and blue.”

The man furrowed his brow and sighed. He pulled the blanket up a little more. “I must look like shit.”

“Ye do.” Aren was brutally honest with the man. He sat carefully, making sure to not trample the man’s fragile frame. “I’m Aren. And ye are?” 

“Maxwell.” The man said, pulling the blanket up more. “I’m so tired.” 

“So am I. I’ll leave ye be.” Aren said, leaving. Maxwell let out a loud huff and Aren faced him again. He found the man had covered his face in the blanket again. Aren sighed and shuffled away towards his bedroom. 

He stripped his armor off and collapsed onto his bed. His consciousness faded as soon as the blanket touched his skin. 

**-**

Aren checked on the man the next morning. Maxwell was still deep in..sleep? A coma? He could not tell the difference. 

He placed a bottle of water on the desk next to him. When Maxwell awoke again, he would need a drink, even though he wasn’t moving much. The desert’s heat would bleed him dry. 

He walked back to his shop and pondered something. He sighed, surprised how much he was willing to do for this injured stranger. He hung up a sign on his shop, telling those who wanted to shop there that he was out for the day and went back home. 

He waited for Maxwell to wake up again. It took Maxwell until noon for him to come back into consciousness. Aren forced Maxwell up and handed him the bottle of water.

“Ye should drink.” He said with slight force, “it’ll do ye good.” Maxwell puffed and managed to open the bottle with his rather bruised hand. He downed it as if it was the first water he had had in weeks. Aren winced, imagining the dryness of the man’s throat with great pain. 

Maxwell put the bottle down and sat back a little. He sighed. “I have no idea what I’m going to do now.”

“Recover?” Aren asked. “Ye aren’t doing anything until you’re better.” He looked down at his feet. “What do ye eat?”

“What?”

“I don’t want ye starvin!” Aren shouted. Maxwell winced, whimpering softly. “Ah, sorry. I just don’t want ye to die I guess.” Aren ratcheted himself down a little, trying to make his voice softer.

“Could you get me some bread?” Maxwell asked quietly. Aren nodded and headed out. He came back five minutes later with a couple loaves. He handed one to Maxwell, who ate it rather slowly. Aren expected this, though, as Maxwell  _ definitely _ wasn’t feeling great. Hell, he was surprised the poor guy had any want to eat at _ all _ . 

“So… What attacked ye?” Aren asked. Maxwell flinched before sighing heavily and closed his eyes, which were slightly brighter and shinier than yesterday. 

“I don’t know exactly… They were like huge wolves! But they didn’t bite me, they just threw me against the wall a good amount of times and then someone chased them off. I heard them laughing, like they were rowdy teenagers.” 

“They didn’t bite you?” Aren tilted his head. 

“No. They could have, but they didn’t. That’s what confuses me.” He hunched over, staring at the fabric of the blanket, as if it would give him an answer. “It’s as if they did it deliberately.” 

“That’s impossible,” Aren laughed, “animals don’t have the same reasoning as people.”

“Maybe they weren’t animals then…” Maxwell said. Aren didn’t have a retort or response, so he just stared at his feet again. 

Aren spent the rest of the day explaining how things worked in Cydonia, as Maxwell would be here for a while. Maxwell seemed eased by how Aren explained things, as if he was going to make it through this difficult time alive. 

Soon enough, Maxwell grew tired and Aren let him be, allowing him to rest. He knew that Maxwell would need tons of it, so he left his house to give Maxwell some space. He made sure the door was well locked. 

It was the beginning of night; some of the day’s dying rays tried to pierce the large sheet of darkness, but it was to no avail. Meridian stayed bright, however, despite the dark, crushing presence of the sky itself. 

Aren believed he was safe. The buildings were too close together to be easy to navigate and sneak through, fires illuminated everywhere darkness tried to settle, and the people seemed friendly enough.

There were no monsters here.

But that was a lie. He found that out when his side exploded, fangs piercing through his armor with ease. Aren screamed, adrenaline filling every vein as he fumbled for his weapon. He pulled it out and stabbed blindly at the dark, furry mass. 

The beast reared back, scampering away, claws clattering against the stony ground. It growled lowly and Aren made it out through its sandy fur. 

It was a wolf-like thing with humanoid proportions. Where it should have had normal paws, it instead had hand-like paws with sharp, white claws, which seemed like they belonged more to a rodent than a canine. Sharp teeth lined its maw and its fur stood on end, seeming to be constructed of many layers. 

Aren huffed at the air, staring at the beast, trying to figure out his next move. He assumed the beast was doing the same, as its eyes scanned over him. 

From both of his flanks, footsteps erupted. The beast yelped and charged away, blood dripping from the wound Aren had inflicted as it did so. 

Aren felt the adrenaline leave his veins and he passed out. 

**-**

He was lucky. The people who had come to his rescue had enough courage to take him to a medic, who had patched him up rather quickly. He was told to keep his weapon on him at night and to stay in large groups. Those large beasts had started to grow in number and he needed to stay safe.

Aren told Maxwell of the beast. He grew uneasy and reflected his own experiences, explaining that Aren had probably encountered a beast like the one that had maimed him. 

Maxwell had started to get better as weeks passed but the same could not be said for Aren. He suffered from insomnia and terrible nightmares. Visions of the beasts flooded his nighttime visions. Sometimes they would attack him, tearing him apart. Other times, he was helping them? He was human still in those dreams, but he felt… Well, he felt inhuman when he woke up.

He had grown hungrier over those weeks too. He was already a hungry person, so this felt like overkill. Most of the time he could satiate it with normal food, but sometimes he needed meat. Raw meat. 

He hated it. He hated how powerless he felt, he hated the strangeness of it, he hated it all. 

And then one night, Aren was ill, too ill to work, barely well enough to walk. Maxwell was well enough to stand that day and it made Aren feel as if he was having his life force drank from him.

Maxwell spent the entire day trying to comfort him. Aren felt the unwellness convert into a pain that bordered on agony. His head throbbed so hard he felt as if he would collapse with every step.

Eventually Maxwell put Aren to bed, helping him take off his armor, and he told Aren he would feel better tomorrow. Aren tried to force a smile through his lips. He wanted to believe Maxwell’s words, but he couldn’t.

He laid in bed for hours, the pain getting worse and worse.

His vision started to blur eventually and his mind fell apart. He welcomed it with open arms.

And then everything went black. 

  
  



	2. Chapter Two

There was a blank space in his memory.

He remembered… The ground. His feet and hands hit it, pounding loudly. His mind was swimming with strange, alien thoughts. 

Another sheet of blackness.

Blood. Iron. He could taste it on his lips. The smell tainted the air and a strange breathing greeted his ears.

And then the final blackness.

Now, he was awake. Half of his body burned and everything ached as if he had run a marathon. He blinked what he assumed was sleep out of his eyes and stood up. He looked down and noticed how torn his clothing was. 

He groaned, staring at the sun, which hung brightly in the sky. He would have to wait until nightfall before he could go back home. He closed his eyes, hoping he could sleep away his soreness.

**-**

Aren arrived into town, feeling like an undead ripped from its grave. He did not notice the blood that dripped from his lips. 

“Oh my--Aren! What happened?” He heard someone shout as they rushed towards him. “Your face is all bloody!” 

Aren touched his face and felt the dried blood against his palm. He winced, imagining the type of cut that would produce all of that blood. 

“And you look like you’ve been mugged! Did someone harm you? Where’s your armor?” The questions were all shot out rapid fire. Aren groaned in response. His ears ached from the inside out and every word made them ache more.

“I don’t know what happened.” He responded, rubbing at his forehead. “I think I need a shower… And a thousand naps.” 

And that's what he did. He went home, washed himself off and passed out on his bed. 

The next morning, Maxwell seemed excited. He was a bit less bruised, the more minor ones of his now had faded away while the more brutal splotches had started to green around the edges, mixing like watercolors. Aren sighed, feeling unwell still. However, he felt as if he owed Maxwell a breath of fresh air. 

So he brought Maxwell to work, stationing him as his assistant. He told Maxwell he’d give him only easy tasks, as he was still rather weak and unwell. 

Maxwell seemed happy enough to help. He chatted with the locals, greeted new faces, and easily sorted through arrows. 

Everything was alright until a certain order.

A man and what appeared to be his family entered the shop. He shoved some ingots on the desk.

“Could ya make me some arrows out of these?” He asked, adjusting his hood nervously. “All I could get was silver, they were the cheapest ingots I could find.” 

Aren was fine with this, grabbing the ingots blindly. 

Suddenly, pain rippled through his finger tips. He gritted his teeth and felt a tear slip through one of his eyes. With a heavy shake of his hand, he managed to rip the feeling from his hand.

“Are you alright?” The man asked quietly. Aren nodded, still gritting his teeth. He brought the ingots back, still pained by the contact with them, and made the arrows anyway. He handed them to the man, who sighed softly, took them and left. 

“I didn’t know silver bothered you.” Maxwell commented. 

“It never did before…” Aren muttered, confused by the new intolerance. “I ain’t surprised though, weirder shit has happened this month…” 

Maxwell patted him on the back. “If it makes you feel better, I used to have it better too.”

“Yeah, ye used to not be so bruised.” Aren said, chuckling a little. “Or is that a bit rude of me? Too soon, probably. Aye…” 

Maxwell chuckled. “Eh, I don’t mind.” 

The rest of the day was uneventful. Aren brought Maxwell back home and they ended up chatting for a little bit.

“So, what brought ye to Meridian?” Aren asked, putting down a roll of buttered bread as he spoke. Maxwell sighed.

“I was tired of K’arthen’s politics, but you can’t really do that when you’re on the council. I wanted to take a vacation from it, so I did, I guess.” 

Aren took another bite of his food. “Didn’t know ye were into politics.” 

“I really don’t seem that political?”

“Nah.”

The rest of the night was uneventful, despite Aren’s insomnia. He sighed, staring at the wall.

Over the rest of the month, his insomnia got worse and worse. He could no longer catch a lick of sleep in the night and had started to pass out during the day. Eventually, he gave in and decided to sleep each morning and every sunset. 

Surprisingly, it worked and gave him enough rest. He was glad to have resolved his problem, but many still remained. 

He still had the nightmares and was now plagued by odd visions. Visions of a large beast charging through the sands. 

One night, he felt unwell again. He decided he would take a walk and hopefully it would be enough to make him feel better.

He stumbled out of town, his vision blurring, his senses dampening. His mind raced with fuzzy, hungry thoughts. 

_ What is this? _ He wondered as the blackness suffocated his mind.

**-**

Black. Darkness stretched out from every angle, corrupting the already fuzzy thoughts.

He was Hungry. Not hungry, no,  _ Hungry _ . Capital H. Bordering on a shout at the beginning and eventually calming down with the tearing of flesh.

A small splotch of blackness.

He could not comprehend what he was. Not who. What. He was something new, something big, something Hungry, something terrible and something primal.

And then, before he could pierce it together, he was awake. Conscious. 

He needed help. He needed to find out what this thing was. 

Upwards, he stared. And then down, and the sands greeted his eyes. He moaned, curling up in the tatters of his clothing, his humanity.

He risked the sun’s wrath, stumbling through the sands. He managed his way back into town, looking worse than last month he had done so.

Many commented on his appearance, but he didn’t care. He walked back over to his house, ripped his door open and flopped onto the floor.

Maxwell let out an inhuman squeak.

“Aren?”

He looked up. 

“I need help.” He croaked. 

  
  



	3. Chapter Three

Maxwell brought Aren inside, sitting him down. 

“What is going on?” He asked gently as he draped a blanket over his shoulders. “You look awful.”

“I had another one of those blackouts…” Aren whimpered. “I think I might have done something terrible.” He laid back and winced, his entire body sore and stretched. Maxwell tried to make Aren more comfortable, readjusting the blanket as he did so, but he stopped as soon as Aren flinched again.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop.” Maxwell said, raising his hands in the air. Aren whimpered softly and then slumped more into his chair.

He hissed softly through his teeth and covered his eyes with his hands. “I think there’s something wrong with me, I think I might be sick… In the head maybe? But everything hurts, like I’ve been torn apart. Reminds me when I was growin’ as a kid… But worse.” Aren rambled to the open air. Maxwell shuddered, his mind racing with possibilities. 

“It appears you black out every month, so how about I observe you when you do so? Then we can find out what’s going on.” He said, scooting closer. Aren huffed loudly, shrinking more into his chair. 

“I can’t really argue with that.” He sounded half asleep. He closed his eyes and drifted off while Maxwell just stared helplessly. 

**-**

Aren spent the entirety of the month anticipating the next blackout of his. The fear and dread haunted him, sometimes keeping him awake, other times bringing him to the verge of vomiting. 

He thought of himself blacking out, going into an indescribable rage, still human in appearance but a beast in mind. He imagined himself tearing people apart with ease and waking up, unaware of what he had done.

Why else would he have blood on his lips? 

It was terrifying, knowing that he had to be losing himself during those nights. He had to be a monster, something awful, something--

Something like those monsters that nearly did Maxwell in, demented beasts that only killed for fun. 

He was scared of himself. He hated it. 

So he spent the entire month in fear, awaiting the result. Finally knowing scared him more than anything. 

The night he felt unwell was the worst. His altered state of mind didn’t help. He couldn’t help but think about the pain and what it meant. Could he somehow be changing? Becoming something else?

“I don’t know whether you should stay or leave…” Aren whimpered to Maxwell as he hunched over. He shivered and shuddered violently, his muscles spasming with great force as something that wasn’t him controlled them.

“You need me to be here. Even if we both knew what’s happening, I think you would appreciate having someone to comfort you through it.” Maxwell said, putting his hand on Aren’s back. “Just… Stay with me.”

He gritted his teeth and let out an agonized cry. “Please… It already hurts enough.” His vision blurred at the edges, becoming a fuzzy mockery of a familiar sense. “You shouldn’t be killed because of me.” 

Maxwell winced, realizing that Aren only ever said “you” when he experienced a certain cap of discomfort. “I don’t think you would ever hurt me.”

Aren’s eyes snapped shut. He screamed, a terrible noise bordering on an animalistic cry. 

Suddenly, his eyes erupted open, irises a fiery orange and the whites now a deep, dark gray. His eyes resembled a deadman’s eyes, they reflected no humanity in them. His weight slammed to the ground like he had suddenly died in his sleep, his eyes drooping. 

What happened next made Maxwell’s skin crawl. He sort of, exploded outward, taking on a much larger form. Gruesome snaps tainted the air and Maxwell shut his eyes. He flinched, bending double as unnatural noises of a body breaking a reforming. Maxwell thought he had changed into a strange mass of fur, approaching what was once a normal looking human slowly.

And then the thing raised its large head, wolf-like jaws opening and baring sharp teeth in his face. Maxwell felt his heart stop.

Before him was one of the beasts that had brought him to this point. The whole reason he was here, why he was so injured, so unwell. 

And Aren had just become one of them.

_ So that’s why those beasts didn’t bite me.  _ He realized with an uncanny sense of horror. He and the beast locked eyes for a good while, the creature looking as if it had been drugged. 

Suddenly, it snorted, its eyes gleaming with life. Maxwell shrieked and the beast whined loudly, scampering backwards. Maxwell continued to scream as the thing hunched over, trying to cover its ears.

Eventually Maxwell calmed down, realizing the thing wasn’t going to harm him. He shuddered and stared at the beast, which was now staring back at him. It stood tensely.

“Aren…?” He asked quietly. The beast growled softly, grabbing onto a nearby window. It cracked the window open and hopped outside. “Aren!” Maxwell shouted, ripping the door open. He saw the beast charging through the town and sighed heavily, following as fast as he could.

Eventually the thing made its way out of town and into the dunes. Maxwell was unable to keep up with the beast’s incredible stamina. He huffed and puffed, slowly trailing the beast’s footprints. 

Sooner than he thought, he found the thing hunched over a bighorn sheep, having eaten a fair bit of it. It looked over at Maxwell and he whimpered, shuddering under the beast’s gaze.

It looked over at him and wiped the blood off of its face. It seemed confused, as if it was remembering something. 

“Aren?” Maxwell asked, taking slow steps to get closer to the monster. It snorted, shaking its head. Maxwell held his hand out, trying to bring his hand close to the thing’s head. It backed up, before rearing on its hind legs and hunching over. It titled its head and flopped its ears back. 

Maxwell brought his hand to the thing’s face. It whimpered softly before opening its eyes which seemed oddly human. 

And then its eyes shrunk into slits and lost their humanity. It growled, kicking Maxwell away from it and skittering away. 

Maxwell gasped heavily and pondered his next move. 

  
  



End file.
